Where the sea meets the earth
by soughtstory
Summary: the line where the sea meets the earth; it's been calling him for years. suddenly, he's taught why. small Kurapika character study.


where the sea meets the earth; it's been calling him for years. suddenly, he's taught why. _small_ Kurapika character study.

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 **WARNING** \- this fic _does_ talk about the aftereffects of death, orphaning, etc, so if that's not your jam, im respectfully telling you that you should probably scoot. also, in this, i just really wanted to see how Kurapika would react if he got to have just one last talk with all the people he loved. also, if you're looking for a song to listen too whilst reading this, i listened to **everything's alright** by adrisaurus.

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Kurapika remembers, back to the days when childhood had been a seed buried against his heartbeat, blossoming, how easily he'd be dragged to the sea. The water and waves, the tides and spill. Lukso Province had straddled the ocean, bent its hands carefully into the sea foam that gathered against it's mouth and _that_ is where Kurapika always found himself, where the earth met the sea, where the sky stretched further than his eyes ever could. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes and stretched, he thought he could tangle his hands through the thread of the horizon; untangle it, turning it broken and open enough for him to step through and explore the great wide somewhere.

So it comes as no surprise that, when his travels have dragged him to countries of grandeur and simplicity, wealth and poor, that the one constant that sits nestled against his bones is the line where the sky meets the earth and sea. Here, in a country bleeding myths and legends of ancient magic that spell out the reversal of death; Kurapika almost sobs. What _fools._

Because Kurapika _knows,_ has lived with ghosts in his breath for years, that you cannot reawaken the dead. No matter how you claw, scratch, shatter - they sleep and sleep and sleep, full of dust and forget. But still; Kurapika plunges himself through the tides, remembers how the world once pushed him into the cold gullet and the sea pushed him right back, lungs full of salt water and a smile as his mother shrieked in fright. Slowly, he imitates the movements through it's lapping tongues - kick, kick, push. Kick, kick, push.

It is night when he reaches the shore again, body an anchor of tire, of sleep. So he collapses, crumbles, a star falling into short gasps of breath as the life drips out of him. It dips a smile into him though, smudges it through the water and sweat and ache that's sat in his footsteps for years. Though the ache is constant, a deep thrum where his soul meets tangibility, it turns him malleable and warm because it is a hollow filled with memories; filled with his mother and father, Pairo, dodo birds and clothes wove from the simple beginnings of his clan. It is so hollow and full, that sometimes when he brushes against it, the ache _burns,_ deep and sweet.

It is a severe burn when he hears it.

" _Oh,_ are you tired my sunflower?" When he hears it - _oh,_ does the light break open in him. All those clouds and shadows that had dipped in and out of him since that day suddenly crack, splinter into balls of light at just a few sweetened words. Sudden breath fills him as he lifts, blond hair filled with sand and rocks, blinking away the immediate thought of _you shouldn't be awake._ But there she sits, a ball of light turned filled, blurred at the edges but enough that he can feel the warmth of her skin as she bends into his vision. Short blond hair. A smile that never ages.

"M-Mother..."

"I wouldn't have thought _you_ out of everyone would get tired of swimming," that same voice, filled to the brim with laughter, just as he remembered it. For a moment, he wonders if he succumbed to the sea and _finally,_ crossed. Finally, he's come home. But he can still feel the pump of blood, the lift o lungs - the life still in his breath. So he's left in pendulum, swinging from point to point as he swallows her in, tries to remember each detail left behind that childhood had let carelessly slip. "I remember once, you swam for hours and hours and no one could find you until dawn. Do you remember, dear?"

Soundlessly, Kurapika nods and scrambles upwards when she lifts away, terrified of letting her slip from his eyes once more. Beside her, in the same blur of blue moon glow, is his father, mouth tugged into a faint, tender smile as his hand winds around her waist. His breath splinters against the edges of him when he laughs, mouth crinkled and full of remembering. "That was something terrifying; but _hey,_ at least you came home, hm?"

But Kurapika doesn't speak, too overcome with this night that slowly, he crumbles. Every atom falling into disarray, each piece of bone and soul beginning to sway until he is the child again, the Kurta boy he'd once been. The fields he remembers tug beneath his feet, the sky opening up to the one he'd known when he was young. Here, the child he swallowed begins his steady journey again - like a sunflower, bending towards the light. He crumples into his mother and father, hands impossibly too small to hug both of them as tight as they can.

The hug is awkward, because now, he's taller than his mother and his father is just a few centimeters taller. But never has he felt more childish than now, tears flowing from his eyes and hands grasping, rooting through forgotten clothing and corkscrews of memories left behind in the thread. But still; his parents oblige their child. Almost as if they too had felt the ache, they pull him close, press their heads into his hair and, as one, as a family, collapse together, endlessly tied and curled around one another.

And, even as the tears dry, as he comes back to himself, heaving in shaky breaths and relief and longing as one old friend come home, he is still in pain.

"I-I came home," he chokes, his mother's hands tightening further into his waist. Under his own, he feels her shake and quiver, swallowing her own tears as her child repeats the words, over and over, as if to cement them to the world. As if to prove that even if they were gone, they hadn't been stolen from him. Not here, not yet.

"Kurapika," despite what has already transpired, Kurapika thought he'd be ready for this. For small hands and wide, unseeing eyes. For a face that smiles. For a heart so tender it weeps - Pairo finds him as he tries to untangle himself from his father's hands, tries to capture the smiling child. He can see the flaws now that childhood had missed; the bags beneath Pairo's eyes, the soft scars and freckles left behind. But it is still him, it is still his best friend. "Kurapika, you promised to tell me. Did you have fun?"

He hooks his finger under his eyes, tries to dry the nonstop tears and nods, smiling and reaching for him all at once. " _Y-Yes._ Yes, I-I did, Pairo. It was so much fun."

As he captures Pairo into his arms, as his sobs turn into screams and begging and apologies, his mother and father stand, after images and blurs following their movements as they depart. But behind them, one by one, Kurapika watches. One by one, they walk from the forest. One by one, his clan come back into existence. Pairo's parents, the elder, the small children he remembered babysitting. Still on his knees, a shell of the child he'd been, Kurapika stares in utter joy and gratefulness as they approach, stand behind his parents in a crowd of smiling faces.

Behind his mother, Pairo's own laughs through her tears. "We've been watching you for years now, Kurapika."

At his father's shoulder, the elder smiles. "You've worked so hard; we're all so proud of what you've accomplished."

On the edge of the crowd, hardly there, Sheila raises a hand. "But you better watch it - or you'll work yourself to death with the rest of us!"

Pairo looks to him, laces his hands through Kurapika's on his shoulder. For a moment, Kurapika wonders when his hands got so much bigger than his best friend's. "You're amazing - you've made so many new friends and done so much. But we miss you terribly."

The blond laughs through his tears, rubbing them away as his mother folds her hands over her slim mouth, hides the painful, joyful smile behind nails folded with dirt, earth where only earth can reach. But as he goes to cup Pairo's face, youthful blossom in his cheeks, he moves away. Stepping back along the sands of time until he's stood in front of Kurapika's parents, and his mother lovingly puts her hand on his shoulder, as she'd always done. Pairo had been a second child to her and Kurapika had been to Pairo's own mother. Gently, as tears fill Pairo's eyes, he tilts his head.

"Please, have some more fun, Kurapika. And you can tell us all about it when we meet again."

Even though he hates this, this brief moment of love, he knows it is only fair for all he has done. The lives he has taken, the souls he has ruined. If he were ever allowed a miracle, this is surely it. But, he dare says he's blessed when, as one, his clan move together. Their hands turn into a prayer position, eyes shifting closed and mouths turning flat. Then, their eyes open, and he is greeted with a sea of scarlet as all their hands lift, as if praying to the dark sky above.

In unison, they chant, "let these scarlet eyes bare witness."

He'd seen it coming of course, how quickly they all began to blur. But despite his knowing, Kurapika still stands hastily, reaches out for the last remnants of all those he loves as they disappear, blown into the wind like dandelions and dust. He only manages to stroke Pairo's cheek, capturing that warm, bright smile dusted with tears before he's gone, adn Kurapika is left motionless, hand outstretched to the air on the shore.

He doesn't know how long he stays, how long he sleeps there but soon, he ends up on his knees, staring into the forest behind. And slowly, do his hands mimic a prayer, mouth turning flat as he presses the edge of his index fingers to them. His eyes close and they open scarlet, turning frostbitten hands to the waking dawn above.

"Let these scarlet eyes bare witness."


End file.
